Robert Louis Stevenson woke up one morning (this happened while he was still alive) and realized he had dreamed a book. Not just the title, or the plot, or the main character, or the scene you have to read twice to figure out what it means. A whole book. So he immediately wrote the dream down, and later showed it to his wife.
Well, Mrs. RLS didn’t like it. She said it was a horrible story, and she didn’t want him to publish it. So he threw it away.
Later, realizing Mrs. RLS wasn’t his only reader, Bob wrote the story down again, and it became one of his biggest hits, namely ‘Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.’ I’ve read it, and I think he made the right choice.
And then, Sunday, when I was trying to figure out what to write about for this week’s column, I remembered how RLS came up with Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, and I figured if it worked for him it might work for me. Not that I expected to dream a whole book, but I only needed a column. So I ate some enchiladas and went to bed.
Well, it worked. I was only asleep for a couple of hours, but I dreamed a whole column anyway. And this is it:
I was at my office, about to leave for the NRA Annual Convention, which is coming up in a few weeks in Indianapolis, only in my dream it was taking place in Houston, where it was last year. And I went to it last year, but I’m not traveling all the way to Indiana. So I guess I moved it back to Houston for convenience, in the dream.
Just as I was about to leave, I looked out front and saw two young men pull up in a Jeep and get out, and one of them was Mr. Colion Noir. For me, this was like most people seeing, say, Tony Romo in front of their house. I wouldn’t recognize Tony Romo if he changed the oil in my car, of course, but I would be nice to him if he came to my office.
Mr. Colion Noir is different, though. A law student, Noir began making YouTube videos a couple of years ago, and people started sending me the videos, and I was impressed. I often posted the videos to Facebook, usually with a note that said if the NRA didn’t hire the guy, they were messing up bad.
Well, the NRA picked Noir up as a commentor. I know, you hear a lot of people call it a ‘commentator,’ but I think that’s silly. I figure a person who comments is a commentor. If you want to be called a commentator then you should commentate, which is not a word. So I say commentor.
Noir was a natural pick for the NRA, not because I suggested him, which they probably never knew about, but because he’s young, intelligent, articulate, witty, logical, and black. He’s exactly the kind of commentor I would have been at his age, if I’d been intelligent, articulate, witty, logical, and black when I was his age.
Since the NRA grabbed him, Noir has made even more videos, and he also goes to shows and conventions, and is pretty much a celebrity now. He points out common sense facts about gun ownership, and showcases the insanity of those who advocate gun control. He says the same things I say in my columns, except people listen to him.
So getting a chance to meet Noir was a Big Deal. I went out and said hello, and Noir and his friend asked me where they could get gas. I told them where I got my enchiladas, but they said their Jeep was empty, so I pointed them to a convenience store.
I asked them if they were headed to the NRA thing in Houston, and they said they were. I told them I was going, too, and Noir told me to call him when I got there and we’d get together. And I was thinking this was going to be a great trip, and maybe I’d get to sit in the NRA booth with Noir, and pretend to be important, or something.
Before they left I asked Noir if I could get a picture with him, and his friend took one with my cell phone, and when I looked at it I realized it wasn’t Mr. Colion Noir. I mean, it had been him a few minutes before, but it wasn’t anymore. So I went back in my office, and found that a family had moved in to stay for a few days. They had several small children and a pit bull, all of which were playing in the swimming pool in the back of my office, which isn’t really there.
When the dad tried to throw me into the pool with the dog I woke up and realized I had come as close to meeting Mr. Colion Noir as I ever have. But one of these days I’m going to look him up, and ask him if he remembers me.
And for the record, my wife probably won’t like this column any more than Mrs. RLS liked Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde . . .
Kendal Hemphill is an outdoor humor columnist and public speaker who never swims in pools that don’t exist. Write to him at PO Box 1600, Mason, Tx 76856 or firstname.lastname@example.org